


how to love your demons

by andthentheres_you



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Character Study, Introspection, Magnus Bane Needs A Hug, Sad Magnus Bane, based on 3b, because i love dark!magnus, hints of dark!magnus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 06:36:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18360629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthentheres_you/pseuds/andthentheres_you
Summary: Centuries of life as a warlock. A warlock, that’s all there was.It was the beginning and the end of everything.Until suddenly, it wasn’t.And he realised what he had missed. His terrible mistake.Half human.Oh, Magnus thought. I’ve been trying so hard to love my demons. I forgot. I forgot to love everything else. I forgot to know it was even there.





	how to love your demons

Over his long years, Magnus tried to learn to love his demons. After all, it was what he was. Where he came from, where his magic came from. The magic that had turned him into a weapon, infiltrating his mind from the moment he was born, until he was five years old with blood on his hands. The magic that had turned him to the streets, had him watching from alleyways as children of his own age walked hand in hand with their parents, smiling with a happiness little Magnus knew he had never experienced. He’d tried once, to mirror the bright grin of the boy he saw skipping alongside his father. How foreign, how wrong that smile had felt. 

Shortly after his own father had pulled him from a desolate little neighbourhood, and his lonely nights turned into to eternal days under an brilliant red sky, Magnus thought back to that boy. How he too now had a father, a place to call home. His smile felt a little more real.

Until, he was old enough to let in the screams. The screams he and his magic left in his wake. He had been taught to destroy; to have his name become his reality. To destroy until there was nothing left but rubble and ashes before the gates of hell. 

He could not turn off the twisting in his gut when he would stand on a pile of broken bodies, meeting his father’s eyes and seeing the pride at such carnage.

His magic spoke to him in small whispers, the tingles in his fingertips telling him there was something more.

His magic was his friend. His ally. It had protected him on the streets from the rainy winters, from the mobs of vengeful villagers left behind after his father’s latest conquest.

His magic was alive. And Magnus let it guide him. Guide him through the twisted guilt he felt when he saw his father for what he was and trapped him in his own kingdom, guide him through the voices in his head that reminded Magnus of his step father - telling him he’d never be anything more than a murderer.

His magic was his beacon. He followed it until he had run far enough to escape the voices of his past. For hundreds of years, he helped people. The Downworld, his warlocks; his family. Gave them potions and spells to solve their problems. To protect them from pain in a way he wished he would have been. Magnus didn’t know whether he did those things of his own merit, or if he just wanted some way, any way to prove to himself that his magic wasn’t evil. That it was decent, that it might make him worthy of love.

It was his saviour from his past. It was capable of putting smiles on his friends’ faces, was capable of making clients leave his loft with a new found hope. Darkness was still there, he could feel it, just barely. But that was okay. Because it was outweighed by the good. It was the one good thing Magnus knew, and Magnus embraced every fizz, every spark between his fingers. How blessed he was to have such a constant companion.

That was how he’d learned to love his magic. 

But his cat eyes. Those would take longer to love. Glamoured for so long that even Magnus sometimes had trouble remembering them. But even though his own eyes escaped him, the eyes of the man who raised him never did. The reminder of what he’d left behind, of what he was. He loved his magic with his whole heart, but what was magical about his warlock mark? They were the sign of a demon, nothing more.

He could not see the beauty in them, but someone else could.

Alexander said they were beautiful. That he was beautiful. That his eyes, which reminded him of the blazing plain of ruin he’d left behind, held the dazzling light of a thousand fires. Oh, how Magnus had tried for so many centuries to not let his eyes burn him from the inside out. How he had tried to forget the way his father’s eyes, identical to his, had lit up when he saw Magnus soak his hands in blood for the first time. The way they had stared into Magnus’ own as Magnus locked him to his throne, never to escape, full of fury and disappointment and just a hint of pleading.

But when Alec gazed at him, when the image of Alec’s eyes staring into his replaced the memories of his father, Magnus found it easier to forget. Easier to listen to Alec as he pointed out the rich oranges, bright sunshine yellows, and just a hint of emerald green he saw in Magnus’ gaze. Easier to smile as Alec kissed his eyelids, with such delicacy that it almost made Magnus’ eyes of a monster fill with tears. 

Alexander told him his eyes were beautiful. That they were filled with love, kindness, hope. Magnus couldn’t believe him, not just yet. But he was trying. He was trying to love his warlock mark. 

He thought maybe one day, he would.

He needed to.

Because that was who he was. Magnus Bane. Magic. Cat eyes. Son of the most powerful Prince of Hell. Half demon.

Centuries of life as a warlock. A warlock, that’s all there was.

It was the beginning and the end of everything.

Until suddenly, it wasn’t.

And he realised what he had missed. His terrible mistake.

Half human.

Oh, Magnus thought. I’ve been trying so hard to love my demons. I forgot. I forgot to love everything else. I forgot to know it was even there. 

Who was this mortal? What was he like without his eyes, without the constant tingle of blue sparks under his fingertips? Has he ever had to know before now?

He was wise. He was brave. He was generous. He was incredible. That was what his archer had told him. Words that didn’t fit him, because how could they? Alexander was talking about someone Magnus had never truly met. Close enough to consider the possibility of their existence every once in a while, but far enough to never think it’d matter. Like a neighbour who, even after so long living side-by-side, you would always somehow manage to miss.

That was what he knew of this mundane side of himself. The side he never thought to learn about, the side that remained a stranger in his own body. 

Maybe there was a part of himself there. But if there was, did it really make a difference? Did it matter, if Magnus couldn’t feel its presence? If he didn’t know how to recognise it? 

If whatever was there was so small, that it became synonymous with ‘nothing’? 

He couldn’t hold onto ‘nothing’. He couldn’t wake up each morning with ‘nothing’. He couldn’t live with ‘nothing’. Oh God, he really couldn’t. 

But,

Oh.

There was something.

He saw it in his bare face - saw the distant features his father had given him. He no longer had the makeup to give himself a new skin. This was what he had now. This was what he still knew. The memories of Edom. Fresh in his mind with no fizzling of magic to drown them out.

He had a home that had accepted him, when he was a scared child with nowhere to go. A father who had took him in when he didn’t know who, or what he was.

He could go back. 

Edom was his past. Edom could be his future. He could go, go home to the only part of his identity that he recognised. Join his father, let those red skies consume him until maybe, just maybe he’d know who he was.

His father was the cause of this. He had taken his magic. Destroyed his identity. But Magnus could not hate him for that. Alexander, oh, Alexander would have died, torn down by the hands of his own brother, had Magnus not saved him. Had his father not agreed to help his chosen son.

Maybe, just maybe, he could help him again.

And then,

No.

He would not go back to those skies. Because there was one other part of himself that had not gone away. Would never go away. The one achingly human trait he could feel, could recognise in his shell of a body.

He loved. He could love. And he did. He would not give himself over to hell while his love was keeping him here. 

He couldn’t see how Alexander wanted him. Wanted him when he was… this. This stranger. This nothing.

But Alec had not made the same mistake Magnus had. Alec had always seen all of Magnus, took time to know all of him. His demon side. His human side. And…

Alexander told him he was beautiful. That he was filled with love, kindness, hope. Magnus couldn’t believe him, not just yet. But he was trying. He was trying to love himself.

Maybe, one day, he would.

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on a conversation my wonderful friend liyah and i had about magnus. we talked about how magnus probably never actually got to know the mundane parts of himself because he was so busy trying to learn to love the demonic parts. his hatred of himself without magic is born out of fear and the neglect of his human side. so this fic happened!
> 
> twitter: angciwings


End file.
